


Rivers and Roads

by fangi



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Roxas and Sora can communicate, Sora's Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:23:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangi/pseuds/fangi
Summary: That’s where he is. Sora’s heart. His heart. He can tell by the warmth of the sun and the fluttery feeling the chimes give him and the shock of the ocean water on his skin. He doesn’t know what ocean waves feel like, but Sora does. He does not know what feelings are supposed to feel like, really, but Sora does, and Sora feels things heart-heavy. Roxas, in this not-his but also sort-of-his heart world, feels a tightening in his chest and a push behind his eyes and a tenseness in his throat that he has never fully felt before. He does not have a name for something he does not recognize, but Sora does. Call it grief. Call it loneliness. For the first time, call it being alive.-Roxas, quite literally, has a place in Sora's heart. They build and break down from there.





	Rivers and Roads

**Author's Note:**

> This is so incredibly self indulgent but like also what else is fanfic for amiright
> 
> Also if you thought, for even a second, that I would try hard enough to make this correspond with cannon properly, you were wrong. Can anyone truly follow cannon in this franchise? Do we even know what’s really cannon at this point? Honestly? Not this bitch thanks

 

_“What do you mean you’re never tempted by the darkness?”_

_“Is that strange? No, really—I’m serious, stop it, Riku—I’ve just never thought of, what did you call it, letting go? Never.”_

_“Never.”_

_“Yes,_ never. _I’m a straight-and-narrow kind of guy, what can I say?”_

 _“It’s not—damn it, Sora—it’s not about what kind of_ person _you are, it’s about being a person in general. Everyone feels the pull of the darkness. It’s always there. Even if you aren’t conscious of it, you have to be fighting it somehow.”_

.

Roxas wakes up in Almost Twilight Town. No children yell from Market Street but birds chirrup in the sunset sky. Ocean water dances along the edge of the east side of town. There is no Sandlot and there is no musty couch in a back alley across town, but the giant clock tower stands tall above the buildings, chanting every hour. The streets are slimmer, here, narrowly winding through the tall buildings with the balconies covered in plants. Down the street is the bodega with the faded window stickers and a handwritten sign that says “SEASALT ICE CREAM: FREE FOR THE SUMMER.” That’s how he knows this place belongs to him. That bodega doesn’t exist in the Real Twilight Town, the Twilight Town that Sora remembers. He is the only one that remembers the old man with the thick accent that told Roxas and his (not real) friends that they shouldn’t spend all their summer money on only _ice cream_ , each and every day. He sometimes wonders why the people who put him in that digital cage bothered to put such gentle details within it. They didn’t have hearts, he supposes. (He vaguely remembers a woman, with sharp features but softer eyes, giving him two ice creams from behind a counter in Real Twilight Town. “These are on the house,” she had said. “Your boyfriend buys these every day from here; go surprise him.” He swore the heat from his face would melt them before he managed to make it to the top of the tower, and yet couldn’t quite put a name on the feeling that made him react the way he did.)

He has his own bedroom again. It resembles both the room he had in the castle and the one he had in Not Twilight Town, with big windows and a bed with crisp, white sheets, a floor made of amber wood and a layer of negligent dust on the shelves. It is never cold. The lamp on his bedside table casts the stars on the ceiling and it’s a nice place to spend his time, he thinks. It’s better than what he hoped for, when he thought he was dying because Sora needed to live. Leave it to Sora to have a special place in his heart for his Nobody.

That’s where he is. Sora’s heart. His heart. He can tell by the warmth of the sun and the fluttery feeling the chimes give him and the shock of the ocean water on his skin. He doesn’t know what ocean waves feel like, but Sora does. He does not know what feelings are supposed to feel like, really, but Sora does, and Sora feels things heart-heavy. Roxas, in this not-his but also sort-of-his heart world, feels a tightening in his chest and a push behind his eyes and a tenseness in his throat that he has never fully felt before. He does not have a name for something he does not recognize, but Sora does. Call it grief. Call it loneliness. For the first time, call it being alive.

. .

He leaves the windows wide open when he sleeps, and that’s how Sora finds him, the first time he visits. Roxas is tired all the time but not quite ever ready to close his eyes, so he hangs an arm out of the open window and wills the stars above to move themselves into less natural artwork before his eyes. He knows Sora is there before he ever says anything.

“Hey, Roxas,” Sora says, deep voice just barely a whisper. Roxas is hyper aware that it’s a little fucked that only one of them is capable of aging. Sora hovers at the doorway, as if he’d entered through the door instead of just phasing right into Roxas’ plane of existence.

Roxas turns. “Took you long enough,” his mouth says, but since they’re connected and all that shit, Sora also hears the “thank you for coming” tacked onto the end that is left unspoken.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t want me here,” Sora says. Roxas stares at Sora for a moment, wonders if that’s the feeling he’d been pushing at Sora, if only unintentionally.

Roxas turns to look out the window again and hums. “That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

Sora scoffs. “I’m plenty thought—”

Roxas doesn’t let him finish. “You could have asked ages ago, though, you know. The worst I could have done was asked you to leave. Besides,” he says, and he hurries to finish before he accidentally tunes into Sora’s emotions and would have no idea what to do with them—he feels so _much_ , it’s overwhelming—and before Sora can find something to say to him. He keeps his gaze stubbornly out the window. “It hasn’t been bad.”

“Oh,” Sora says, and Roxas can hear that dopey smile of his unfolding on Sora’s face. “That’s good! I’m glad!” Sora apparently takes this revelation as an invitation to shuck off his shoes and join Roxas on the bed. He sits cross-legged right up next to where Roxas remains hanging out the window. “I wanted to check in on you after you, uhm, woke up, but Riku thought it was a good idea to give you some time to get used to things once things settled down in here,” Sora says and thumps his chest, right above his heart. “But I don’t really know what time is the right time so here I am!”

Roxas can’t help but laugh, just a little. “You? Unaware? _No._ ”

Sora shoves him and huffs. “Shut up!”

They lapse into silence. Roxas pulls his head back inside the room and leans against the wall next to Sora. He presses his lips together. “Things going okay?”

Sora grins and leans his shoulder against Roxas’. “Of course! Riku and Kairi are good. The world still needs saving but it feels like that hasn’t really stopped since the beginning, you know? It’s like a non-stop adventure. Couldn’t be better.”

Roxas stares at Sora and Sora keeps his eyes trained on the stars on the ceiling. Roxas chooses not to comment and turns his head to look back out the window for a moment. He glances back at Sora.

“Do you want to go swimming?” He blurts out.

Sora sputters next to him for a moment. “What? Right now? Yeah! Yeah I do, what, oh my god, let’s _go!_ ” He scrambles off of the bed in a fraction of the time it takes Roxas to get up. Sora is practically vibrating. “Lead the way!”

.

They end up at the clock tower, as most things seem to for Roxas, after stopping at the bodega down the road and pulling two sea salt ice creams out of the stand freezer outside of the front door. They climb the stairs and sit on the edge, letting their legs dangle as the warm night breeze dries the water on their skin and rustles their salty hair.

“You should really get some sleep,” Roxas says. Sora lets out a mighty yawn beside him, but doesn’t move.

“This is sorta like sleep, I think,” Sora says quietly. “My body is resting like I’m asleep, when I’m like this. Exploring my own heart, I mean. Our heart.” He knocks his heels against the bricks heavily. “Sometimes I wander around when I can’t get my brain to shut up. It’s easier than dreaming.”

Roxas keeps his gaze on the skyline, where the stars meet the dark ocean. “You can always come here, if you need some company.”

Sora’s head whips towards him and Roxas dutifully keeps looking forward, even while heat creeps up his neck. Sora is grinning again. “ _Roxas!_ ” Sora yells. “Roxas, that was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

Roxas huffs. “To anyone, probably. Don’t get used—”

But Sora is hugging him, then, and he squeezes Roxas’ shoulders with a firmness that lets Roxas lose himself in the feeling, just a little. He does not respond to Sora’s quiet “thank you” that is murmured into his shoulder, but he lets himself be held.

. .

Roxas startles awake – seconds or weeks or years later, he could not say – to Sora hovering in his bedroom doorway again. Roxas studies Sora for a moment but doesn’t move to get up. When Sora finally meets his eyes, Roxas’ mouth opens and he lets out a

“What.”

Sora tenses. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t know you’d be sleeping.”

“It’s not like I actually need to sleep, anyway,” Roxas says, but still doesn’t move to get up. Sora doesn’t say anything. Roxas catches Sora’s eyes again. “What did you want?”

“Ah, uhm – it seems really unimportant now, it doesn’t matter really—”

“Sora.”

Sora flinches again. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Roxas lets out a heavy sigh but can’t quite convince his not-real-but-still-his body that it is ready to move, can’t chase the phantom exhaustion from within his bones and behind his eyes, so he opts to look up. He wills his arm to pull back the quilt he’s currently laying under. “Come on, then.”

“Uhm,” Sora says.

“Sora, we are literally the same person. I’m tired. You’re tired. Get in bed.” Roxas closes his eyes again. “Damn.” He hears Sora hesitate and then move to take his shoes off. He pauses at the edge of the bed and then climbs in, lying on his side, facing Roxas.

“Thanks,” Sora whispers.

Roxas just hums, and sleeps.

. .

Roxas can feel a tremor in the ground. A vibration in the foundations of space around him, shaking in the walls. He tastes Sora’s weariness in the air. If he concentrates, he knows he can follow the feeling to its source.

_Sora’s line of sight swings to the monstrosity he’s up against. His breath rattles in his chest. God, he’s tired._

_The heartless screeches, giant purple talons swinging around and toward him. He pushes backward, stumbles, falls, feels the breezes of the claws on his face as they rush past him. His legs shake as he stands again._

There is a door, Roxas knows, inside the clock tower that leads out of this place. He isn’t sure where out is, exactly, but outside. Towards Sora. His feet unthinkingly take him there, to in front of that door, and pushes it open before he can think any harder, before he can wonder what could go wrong.

(Before he can wonder if he’ll be able to convince himself to come back, after. If he’ll see or feel or touch something that will hurt too much and he won’t be able to do this anymore. Isn’t that how feelings work? He wouldn’t know.)

He steps out into black space. Below him, a colored glass walkway spirals way up above him and sinks lower down. He takes a deep breath, and runs up.

“Sora!” He yells. He is nearing the light at the top. “Sora!”

He feels Sora’s body falling, and he rushes his soul, his life, his entire existence _whatever_ into catching him.

.

The sensation of being among the Real World again is both immediate and an eternity, tearing through him in a sort of not-pain—like it is supposed to hurt, but does not. Every single piece of Sora’s ability to capture emotion touches him and then instantaneously recedes, leaving an almost gaping feeling behind, but he has no time to give the feeling a name. Sora’s body—their body—is shaking, knees straining to keep them standing. Sora’s consciousness slides against his own and, for a moment, they coexist as one being, too many thoughts bouncing around for one brain and too much mania coursing through them. It is excruciating. It lasts for a second and ends just as fast.

Sora’s thoughts are his own. They’re communicating, somehow.

“Roxas?” Sora’s whispering, and Roxas feels the weight of the Keyblade against his palm shift into something more familiar. He misses Oblivion, sometimes. He cannot summon the blade within their heart, and he’s finally just stopped asking questions when limitations arise.

“Don’t worry,” he pushes the feeling back towards Sora. “We can do this.”

Sora’s exhaustion creeps along with his words. “It’s too fast—”

“Sora.” Roxas focuses and shifts his energy, his being, and feels Oathkeeper drop into hiss other hand. Perfect. “I’m faster.”

And he fights.

It has been a very, very long time since he erased a Heartless, but the adrenaline pumping through his—their—veins pushes a warmth he remembers as his favorite feeling, when he couldn’t feel anything more than physical sensations. The heat in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. He was Organization XIII’s best weapon for more than just the Keyblade, in the end. Sora’s panic is dull, almost silent, underneath it. There is only the fight, the sound of Oblivion crashing down, of his—their—voice’s incantations, magic at his fingertips. He pushes past their limits. He pushes _forward._

When the Heartless lets out a final scream, a battle cry, he rips Oathkeeper and Oblivion, side by side, from its belly to its deformed jaw. An execution. It bursts, and its fragments float out and up.

He is still. He hears every time his heart beats. Feels every pulse of blood in his fingers.

“Sora!” Riku is in front of him. He hadn’t even known he’d been there. “Sora, I told you to _wait for me_ , what happened?” Riku’s eyes dart from their faces to their body. “Are you okay?”

The memories bubble up, even if he hadn’t witnessed it; their body had. “There was a girl,” his voice says. He watches Riku’s eyebrows knit together. He’s too dull to be Sora, even if Sora is exhausted. He lacks something Sora has. The light. (The heart.)

“A young girl. It came after her. Had to act.” He feels his body shift to the side—he sags, and the Keyblades disappear just as Riku notices them. His eyes lock back on Roxas’ face.

“Sora?” Riku says the name like he’s got a feeling what is amiss.

“Sleeping,” Roxas murmurs, and he watches Riku’s face cycle through several emotions before it stops on anger, or at least Roxas thinks so. He’s never been good at that.

“What—”

“Not forever, dumbass,” Roxas interjects, though the volume of his voice stays the same. “He’d been at it too long, couldn’t summon a second Keyblade. He’s never been ruthless enough to fight shit like that alone, you know that.” God, he’s tired. “I helped.”

“Roxas,” Riku begins—and hearing his name out here in the open, in the Real World, from a Real Person’s mouth, it all comes rushing back. The gaping feeling, the extra tightness in his throat, it’s all much more real than it’s ever been—it’s too much.

And their body finally, _finally_ gives out.

.

When he wakes, there is a body in his bed and it isn’t Sora. He can feel the weight of an arm over his waist. It aches in familiarity.

“Quite a stunt you pulled back there,” a voice says. It has a lilt he remembers but an undercurrent he does not, one that echoes with groans and the devastation of an earthquake. It’s a sandstorm voice that sounds like pain. It sounds like the door to darkness. The grip around his waist tightens some. It feels possessive in the way he likes, but he knows better. Knows this isn’t real.

 

He doesn’t know how to leave, though. Right now, he’s not sure if he could even if he knew how.

The energy in the room tilt-shifts and Sora is there, in the doorway. The presence vanishes. Roxas shivers.

“Oh, thank the stars,” Sora says and is immediately on the bed, hands surging toward him and wrapping Roxas in is arms. “I don’t know what happened, I couldn’t feel you, couldn’t hear—I thought you were gone.” He sniffs and pulls back. He holds Roxas’ gaze fiercely. “You saved me.”

“I die if you die, don’t feel special,” Roxas mutters, eyes anywhere but on Sora and a fierce red crawling up his neck.

“I really could’ve,” Sora whispers. He hesitates. Waits for Roxas’ eyes to return to his. “I mean it. Thank you.”

They stay there for an amount of time Roxas cannot place.

He tries to ignore the chill on his back where a body used to be.

.

It starts to show up everywhere.

The presence stands behind him as he picks up ice cream, well after Sora has gone on his way. It does not speak, but crowds into his space, presses against his back when he stands up from the freezer. He has to grip the edge of the freezer to get his head on straight, the rush of emotions—Sora, _why_ —thundering through his chest and making his head hurt. He takes a breath and pushes away, holding onto his resolve as his lifeline. He doesn’t realize until he’s at the top of the Clocktower that he’s got two ice cream bars with him.

The presence is still there, just behind him, as he stares down at his hands. He’s shaking.

“My favorite,” the voice hums. Roxas refuses to turn around, won’t let himself. He yells, violence cracking his throat and throws both sticks over the edge. He watches them disappear.

And jumps off instantly after.

He hears part of his name, the voice echoing after him, but the wind rushes in his ears and everything tunes out. He feels nothing. He closes his eyes and lets this world, the only thing that belongs to him, reach out and catch him.

He lands in the ocean, plunging deep underwater. He wonders, idly, if its within this world’s limitations that he could just stay down here forever. Perhaps.

He opens his eyes, marking the gentle light that slips below the water’s surface and fades into the inky blue below him. For a moment, he allows himself to just be here. To exist.

A flash of red passes the corner of his eye and he can’t think, can’t breathe, the water pushes down on him in a way that was once comforting but now feels like a thousand pounds of pressure. He kicks towards the surface, limbs moving too much, and he can feel it, feel the fingers raking his lower legs, gripping at his ankles. He kicks out, doesn’t look down, stares directly up at the sin and _surges_.

He breaks the surface, air rattling around in his lungs. He is not alone in this water, in this space, he knows it, can feel it in his very being. He struggles for breath but wills himself to swim to the beach. He closes his eyes and _breathes._ The water feels like hangs sliding down his arms, like cool breath on his neck, like the nip of teeth just below his ear. He can feel his own resolve shaken as a shiver slips down his spine and across his skin.

He swims.

.

For but a moment, he wonders if Sora might know what is going on. He does not ask.

.

Roxas wakes in the middle of his world’s night, the moon humming through the open window, the sticky air scratching at his legs. There is a weight on his waist.

He shifts away but the grip tightens. He can feel long fingers press into his hip bones, like they belong there. There is a fierce warmth on his back. His breath shudders and catches.

Every feeling he should have ever had assaults him at once. His throat clogs and his chest tightens; he curls in on himself but back into the warmth—his hands grab at the arms wrapped around him as he furiously blinks his stinging eyes. He can taste his own grief, sharp and metallic on the back of his tongue, as it floods and overloads his system. He can’t concentrate, can’t move, can’t act. He’s not _strong enough_ for this—too selfish, too unstable, too _lonely_. His mouth jerks open and his gut clenches with the sob he releases. Everything hurts. He doesn’t want to feel like this anymore. All he wants is—

“Axel.”

He whispers it, but it feels final.

The arms pull him closer and lips are on his ear. “Look at me.”

Roxas shudders and tries to find a steady breath, he _tries._ “You’re dead, Axel,” he whispers, because he knows it’s true, Sora remembers it, remembers _watching._

The voice laughs in his ear, low and warm and suddenly he is remembering every single time he’s ever heard it, every quiet moment, every sunset evening, every wish and want never granted but talked about.

“Look at me,” the voice says again.

Roxas obeys.

.

.

Sora can feel the burning in his chest, the flicker of fire between his ribs, before he has a moment to actually do anything about it. The embers heave themselves up his throat and scratch behind his eyes well before he is finished fighting for the day, hours before he can consider resting, moments before he feels the stiches over the cracks in his heart begin to singe. He sucks in a deep breath. Tries to cool down. Tries to calm down. He takes a moment, surrounded by heartless and friends alike, to reach into his own heart and call out quietly, stone-cold and steady, a breeze through the flame-filled air:

_“Roxas.”_

And he gets no response in return.

The heat flares, seeps into his temples, pushes out of him as a heavy breath. The miasma seeping out of the heartless seems to gravitate toward him.

“Riku,” he chokes, “Riku, I have to—”

Riku—bless him and his easy smile—just nods. “Do what you need to. We’ve got this.”

.

Sora lets himself fall back and down into his own heart, past his consciousness and the warm, white light of his soul. He lands in a world of stained glass walkways; images of himself and his friends and his loved ones surround him. The air is thicker than usual. His lungs stutter. He runs.

He runs up and up and tries not to notice as the colorful walkways fade into black, his shoes marking his path through the soot. When he reaches the little wooden door, the one that opens up to the courtyard in front of the clock tower, he doesn’t hesitate a moment and bursts through, leaving the door wide open behind him.

He steps into a world he does not recognize.

Everything is blank. White. Spaces seems to shimmer and warp like looking through water. There is nothing, save for the ornate white door, down in front of him, and the figure it towers over.

Sora immediately begins running. “Roxas!” He yells out. “Roxas, get away from there! That’s the Door to—”

An inky color creeps up the tan skin of Roxas’ neck, and his head cranes up towards the doorway. He is so very still. As Sora nears, yelling himself hoarse, he finds that he is able to easily approach and stand right in front of Roxas’ person. The eyes he tries to catch, however, are vacant.

“Roxas?” Sora’s voice catches some, unsure. He reaches out. “Roxas, come on, snap out of—”

The darkness on Roxas’ skin jumps out at Sora as soon as he touches Roxas, and Sora shouts and stumbles backwards. The white room begins to flood with pitch, Roxas still unmoving before the Door to Darkness, and Sora is quickly surrounded in black. It seems to reach out and grab at his shoes, tries to crawl up and touch his skin. He moves back towards Roxas as fast as he can. The stains on Roxas’ skin have reached his chin.

“Roxas,” Sora pleads, hands hovering uncertainly in front of him, unsure if he should risk touching Roxas again. “Roxas, _please._ You’re stronger than this, I know it—I’m not sure how—I don’t know how you got here but giving up isn’t the answer— _giving in_ isn’t the answer. Roxas you’ve gotta listen to me, I _need_ you, please—”

A hollow chuckle slides out of Roxas’ mouth. Something about his voice isn’t quite right, is warped in some way. Deeper. Two-toned. Sora jerks backwards, mouth beginning to form words but aborting each phrase he tries to start. Roxas’ whole body creaks to the side and then his head follows just a bit farther, empty eyes meeting Sora’s. “Need?” Roxas questions Sora with only the one word, then falls silent once more.

Sora scowls. “Of course I need you! Roxas, you have to let me help you.”

“You can’t,” Roxas says, flat. The darkness is spreading up one side of his face.

“I _can_ if you would let me! You keep me at a distance as much as you possibly can, Roxas, don’t think I haven’t noticed, I _know_ there are secrets you keep from me and _that’s okay_. You should be allowed to exist as your own person, with your own memories and thoughts and _feelings_ , Roxas, I want that for you, but I’m not going to let you destroy yourself. Not right now. Not ever.” Sora reaches out and grabs both of Roxas’ shoulders, grits his teeth as the explosion of darkness comes at him full force. Shouts through the sharp pain against his hands and face and the chill down his spine until—

He pushes every good thought he’s ever had outward. Every feeling of peace. Every small laugh Riku has ever emitted and every time Kairi has grabbed him by the wrist—every time he’s watched the sun set over the ocean, every fit of giggles he’s lost control of as Donald and Goofy squawk with laughter beside him. The feeling of pride in a battle well won. The warmth in his skin when the Keyblade understands him. The smiles on every face he’s ever helped.

Sora opens his eyes to bright white. Somehow they’d sunk to their knees, and Roxas’ forehead is pushed against Sora’s chest. The shimmering of the white holds color now, and when he squints, he can make something out—a face, a smile—

A memory.

Sora takes in a little breath. Axel handing Roxas a brand new bar of sea salt ice cream. The two comparing the clean sticks to see if they’d won. Roxas, sitting on a bed in a stark white room, reading. Demyx and Axel sitting on a couch, Axel’s arm hooked heavily around the other’s neck, faces full of laughter. Axel leaning down into Roxas’ face, sly words on his lips. Axel looking fond. Axel laughing. Axel.

Sora looks down into Roxas’ hair. Feels his throat clog up. His eyes sting. He sniffs loudly.

“What’re _you_ crying for,” comes the quiet voice below him, and Sora—bless him—can’t help it, can’t contain this bitter sadness inside his chest. Roxas slowly, slowly picks up his head, clear blue eyes squinting up at Sora against the brightness around him. “Sora?”

“I can’t,” Sora chokes, his entire body shaking with the weight of it all. “I can’t help it, Roxas, I’m crying for _you_ —” He hiccups and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, but the tears don’t stop. “It’s so unfair, all of it—”

And he hugs Roxas to him, tight and secure, and Roxas’ arms stutter a bit. Hover just in the air, until finally settling around Sora’s back. He lets the feelings wash over him. Lets that empty in his chest settle a bit. Sora sobs into his shoulder, but it stutters some as he tries to reign in his breathing. Sora squeezes Roxas before pulling back, fiercely, eyes shining with tears and determination. “You are _not_ alone, Roxas, I promise you that. And we are going to find a way to make all of this something better than it has been. I promise.”

Roxas sighs. “Don’t make promises, Sora, you—”

“I’m going to keep it,” Sora says. And he means it.

And Roxas believes him.

He is almost too quiet to be heard, when he pushes his face back into Sora's shoulder, overwhelmed. Trembling.

But Sora hears him.

"Thank you."

.

Sora meets Lea. Things shift. It’s a step.

.

.

_Rivers ‘til I reach you…_

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from “Rivers and Roads” by the Head and the Heart.


End file.
